


Together

by FlusteredWriter



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-A Court of Wings and Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 23:38:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlusteredWriter/pseuds/FlusteredWriter
Summary: Cassian/Nesta one shot that takes place shortly after the events of ACOWAR.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Kudos: 26





	Together

You had avoided Cassian for days after the battle, only briefly checking in with the healer at camp while he was unconscious, if only to make sure he would live. It wasn’t fair, to say the things you did and then vanish but… You can’t.

You never cared much for your father, never let yourself. He was useless once all your wealth was gone, spent the days whittling worthless knick-knacks no one ever bought while his youngest child fought to keep them all away from the clutches of starvation. Even when your wealth returned, he was inconsequential in your eyes. Didn’t fight for the girl who kept him alive all those years, didn’t stop Elain from entering a foolish marriage, disappeared when you needed him most.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, his death.

But to know that he spent his last few months doing everything in his power to save you, to save his children, to help those who needed it, only to die moments before victory, using his last breath to tell you he loved you despite what you had become… If you thought about it for too long, the grief threatened to overcome you. You can’t.

And the things Cassian had said to you, just before he thought he was going to die, the way he looked at you, how he kissed you as though he was happy it would be the last thing he ever did. And you laid on top of him, ready to take the blow with him, ready to leave this wretched world at last, with him. Why did you do that?

Feyre tries to talk to you about it under the guise of friendly conversation. You ignore her each time, but she seems determined not to give up. Wretched, lovely thing. Elain has much more success, though she doesn’t seem as inclined to pry, giving you the same courtesy you did when she was recovering from being Made: occupied silence.

You sit in the garden with her while she weeds, walk the streets with her while she shops, lend a hand in the kitchen when she tries to bake once more. All the while you think, and grieve, then shut it all out, over and over until your heart goes numb. Your father’s death, Cassian’s love. The war. What was gained and what was lost. Made and un-Made, death and life, endings and beginnings. Round and round in circles until your head spins. Make it stop.

It takes almost two weeks for him to finally corner you. A part of you wishes he had stayed away longer; yet another part of you wonders why it took him so long.

He blocks your way as you try to leave the sitting room one night, where you had been reading in silence moments before. “Nesta. You’re avoiding me.”

You don’t answer, instead trying to squeeze past, surprised at the panic that rises in your chest. You don’t want to do this now, don’t want to talk to him, to see his face, the emotion in his eyes, to remember the things he said- You can’t.

“Nesta,” he says more insistently, yet he keeps his tone gentle. As though you’re a bird that will flitter away at the slightest noise. No one has ever needed to be gentle with you. “Please.”

You look up at him with a half-hearted glare, throat tightening. You will not cry. “Will you let me pass?”

“Only if you promise to talk to me.”

“We’re talking now.”

He shoots you a look. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do,” you say flatly, trying to close off your heart as you whirl around and storm back to your chair. “I see you’ve healed well.”

Cassian studies you, wings flaring a little as he crosses his arms. His wings… “You would have known that sooner if you weren’t avoiding me.”

“I never said I was avoiding you.”

“You have yet to say you weren’t avoiding me.”

Your hands smooth over the worn leather cover of the book you had been reading, though your mind had been so absent you couldn’t begin to describe what lay between the pages. The full weight of your eternal life hits you suddenly; this, the never-ending thoughts, the doubts, the feelings, forever. How will you bear it? How could you let others bear it for you? “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

He snorts at your obvious lie, and a moment later he’s seated across you. “What’s wrong, Nesta?”

“Nothing-“

“That’s not true. Please don’t lie to me, just,” he reaches out to place his hands over your own. “Talk to me.”

You stare at his hands, making your own look so very small. Shades darker, rough with callouses and scars, the hands of a soldier. You don’t know what to tell him.

“I meant it,” he finally says, hoarsely. “Every word, Nesta. And I know you meant it too.”

Pulling your hands away, you rise quickly, turning your back to him in favor of looking out a window, over the city. “I, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why?” You flinch minutely at the pain in his voice but refuse to face him, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over if you do. Even so, he comes up behind you, so close you can hear his heart beating, the faint whisper of his wings as they shifted, muscle sliding against muscle, joints moving into place-

“Nesta.” His hand on your elbow draws you back, keeps you from getting lost in your still-foreign senses. “Please.”

You turn your face away as the tears start to flow, the pain catching up with you no matter how hard you try to block it out, a hollow thing that blooms in your chest, threatening to consume you. Hate and love, life and death, Made and un-Made-

He brushes your tears away, drawing you back again, and you bat your him away to hastily wipe at your face. “I will not cry,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Why? You have every right to mourn-“

“No,” you growl at him. “I will not cry. Not for this. We won.”

“And we lost, too. You lost.” Gently, so gently, he pulls you closer, wipes your cheeks. “It’s okay if you need to heal. We all do.”

Apparently, that was all he needed to say. A torrent of tears slip silently down your face, staining Cassian’s shirt as you press your face into his chest. All the pain of the last few months catches up with you, caving in your lungs, making your whole body shake with near-silent sobs. And Cassian just holds you, pulls you tight against him, murmurs soothingly while you hiccup the last of your tears away.

“I don’t feel much better,” you grumble when you can finally get your breathing under control, drawing a chuckle out of him.

“It usually takes more time to feel better.”

It doesn’t take long for you to stiffen, unused to such close contact from anyone, let alone from him. To his credit, he doesn’t seem offended, just quietly lets you go with only a hand remaining on your shoulder. “You’ll be just fine, Nesta.”

And strangely, you believe him.


End file.
